CHAPTER X.

THE WONDERFUL BOOK.

UPWARDS of a week passed away, during which Matthew Reardon was still confined to his chair, for nothing could persuade him to take to his bed. He was not worse, he said, but then he was no better. A little paler, and thinner, and weaker, perhaps; at least his wife thought so; but he did not perceive it himself, or rather, would not admit that he